No survivors
by Cheeky-eyes
Summary: He watched on as his village was slaughted. The screams still sounding. ... They said there we no survivors that night. Rated for macabre content. An account of what happened that night in Kul Elna.


_Ever had one of those fics that just write themselves? This is one of them. Hurrah for random inspiration! _

**No survivors.**

All he could hear was the sound of screaming. The bloodcurdling sound that chilled you to the bone and refused to wipe clear from your memory. How he wished he could go back to an hour ago, to warn the peacefully 'sleeping' city of thieves of what was about to befall them. But surely nothing they had done deserved this kind of punishment? Surely no one deserved this? Surely the Pharaoh was as kind and just as they said he was? Surely they wouldn't do this to their own people?

Obviously they lied. _He _wasn't the person they said _he_ was! Why else would _he_ order this? Why else would _he_ let this happen?

He just wished that the screams would stop.

His mother had told him to run. To run and hide when not so far away approaching hooves could be heard. Hooves that spelled their death sounding in the still night. It didn't matter who it was, guards, opposing thieves, unfriendly neighbors. The sound of many horses approaching in the middle of the night meant battle. Meant death.

But nothing like this was imagined.

He had hidden like he had been told. He had been under cover when the Pharaoh's guards passed his hiding place, rounding up all those who had been unable to escape. Of course, those who had escaped where no better off. All of them were either killed or wounded. The dead were lucky. The dead had escaped. The wounded were rounded up too. But under his cover Bakura didn't see any of it. He didn't move. To move would mean capture. To move would mean death. And he knew it. He lay still under the stone until all the guards had left. He was still hiding long after a man, who acted like a priest, had said all those in the village were accounted for. And that they were ready to begin; they had enough sacrifices.

Sacrifices for what though?

He lay still in the heavy silence of the night, hardly daring to breathe. It felt like the calm before the storm. He lay still, and unmoving. Until the screams had began. The screams of those being tortured to death. The screams of the somewhat innocent as hot knives dug into their skin. The screams of those being burned alive. The screams of terror of those who were witnessing. The screams of those who realized they were next. The screams of those long tough and finally broken. The screams of those who still could. The screams of a mother watching her children die. The screams of everyone he had even known, loved and hated.

The final sound of his village.

In horror he lay there. Each and every scream tearing into his soul. He knew some wouldn't be screaming; Kul Elna had a reputation after all for a reason. Amongst the screams were curses. Curses of the damned and curses of the desperate. And still the screams of torture and misery sounded. He couldn't stand it any longer. He couldn't just lie there and listen. He had to help. He had to save them! Save as many as he could. Children of Kul Elna were taught from the cradle to be tough, to look out for their own. So guided by the intense sound of the screams he found his way to the chamber underground where the thieves deposited their loot. To the supposedly secrete treasure trove underground.

The one who had told them of it would have paid dearly under different circumstances.

Deeper and deeper underground he found himself. Wrapped in the sound of the screams and now the clinking of chains. As he stalked the hallways quietly, scared out of his wits, shadows began to from all around him. Playing out a terrible scene. The shadows of soldiers with huge swords stabbing and slaying people. The shadows of soldiers throwing bodies into a huge pot. The shadows of his people's ultimate demise. The roar of screams, chains and slicing was at its peak. Already he could feel the heat of a fire, and the stench of burning flesh. Determinedly he went on. Flattening himself against a corner Bakura inched his way along, half prepared for the sight about to befall him. The last sight he ever saw as an innocent child.

The shadows hadn't lied. Heat waves passed over him and a bright, intense glow settled over him. The acrid smell of burning flesh assaulted his senses with new ferocity. He felt sick, he found himself too terrified to even scream. Even if he had there was no chance of it being heard over the slaughter. Wide terrified eyes peered into the horrors the room had to offer. His family, his friends, the people he knew, people he didn't, were all in one production line of death. Some were missing. Those who had already been slain. The gold of the thieves' loot was no longer piled in the room, but was the eerie glow in a mold in the centre of the room. The mold of a disproportionate man. But he couldn't bring himself to look at it. It barely registered in his mind. No, the lines of his people being slayed, butchered, mutilated and thrown into the burning pits burned itself into his memory. The sight of some not even being slayed but just thrown in the boiling pits alive. He descended into shock. He wanted to scream. He wanted to move. He wanted to turn away. But he couldn't. He was rooted to the spot. Too horrified to move, speak or blink.

And still the screams went on.

Countering the bright offending glow of the room was a dark shadow, pulsing and gathering around him where he stood, half hidden in the doorway. It hissed, and spoke to him. _Come. Come._ Still he stood. _Come. I will save them. I will make those who wronged us pay. _The voice barely registered. Pressure pressed down upon his shoulder, but he didn't know. He just watched on as his mother was sacrificed next. He stared as his father was thrown in alive into the burning pot. He still saw the slaughter even after the pulling pressure of shadow had lead him away. He still watched on as the world descended into total darkness.

_Equivalent exchange means a life for a life. They may have relished me but I plan to use the power that was sealed away from me. In order to do this a need a sacrifice. You, boy, will be my vessel._

The shadow was offering no comfort. He realised this. Barely. The bodiless voice drifter through his senses, not registering in his mind. He watched on as ghosts bent on vengeance danced around him in the darkness. A dance of dark omens, a dance of death. Mutely he nodded as they prompted him to. Nothing mattered anymore. No longer did he have the desire to scream, but only float in wide-eyed horror for as long as time lived. He was broken. He was perfect. He would be the host, the vessel. Forever a child locked away in horror as part of him infused with the shadow. Forever doomed to watch all he knew be so coldly destroyed. Forever to be a pawn in the shadows game. Never again himself.

Before he even realised it the deed was done. A figure formed in the darkness. The malevolent grin of a shadow God appeared before him. The sadistic shadow took his victim, destroying the last survivor of the village. As the final piece of the items was complete the Dark God Zork embodied himself into the child. Stealing and sealing away whatever freewill he might have had. And for a brief moment he came to himself, not seeing the horror anymore. The screams had stopped. But a new horror stood before him. The shadow God was the last sight he saw as himself. And what they said was true; there were no survivors in Kul Elna that night.

**xxx**

**Authors note.**

I read out a rather unedited copy of this at my schools writers club, and I must say, reading it out it seemed a lot more macabre then I remember writing. I guess that's what you get with random plot bunnies. (Pets bunny.) Actually when my Beta read it that's how she described it, macabre. Though at the same time she doesn't know Bakura's history, she hasn't seen the AE arc. And I think that makes a difference with this.

So I know at times that it might have seemed over the top, but think about it. It must have been like that. All those horrors in a short amount of time. I am a firm believer that Bakura isn't really evil, **he was possessed.** And yes, we don't actually know when it happened, we just know it did. So yeah. I hope you, ah, enjoyed it. And the quote '_The acrid smell of burning flesh'_ comes from my friend Lisa.

Reviews would be nice.

Cya.


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